Yesterday we had an incalf heifer looking as if she was ready to start to calve
and she was looking around where to calve, just in the late evening.
Two hours later and just going
dark, her water had broken and she had got two calves with her, but they looked
remarkably dry and well licked from the distance. She had if fact taken
to two other young calves that were only a day or so old and keeping
them close to her. The danger here was that when she eventually had her own calf
she may follow one or both of the calves she had “adopted” and forsake her own
calf.
I watched a program about War
Horses the other night, only to realise how many were taken from this country
and North America to work abroad during the
First World War.
What an important role they
played in the transportation of supplies out to the front line in the most
horrific conditions.
During the Second World War
horses were still in short supply but possibly for a very different reason.
Our Government seems to "Gold Plate" every last rule no matter how petty and
small, where as the same rules in France are far more relaxed. For
example, all cattle have to have two ear tags, if you’re unlucky enough to have
been chosen for an inspection, and if they find a beast with one tag missing you
stand to have your entire SFP stopped or percentage deduction.
More on this story here
http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2012/03/our-single-farm-payment-form-is.html
Not so many bulls about farms
these days, particularly the dairy herds. Before the advent of Artificial
Insemination, you often reared a bull calf out of one of your own best cows, the
resultant heifers coming into your herd and completing their first lactation,
would be very hit and miss. It was not uncommon to see cows with curled up toes and long pendulous udders often having front teats pointing east west. Also you had three more years of calves on the way
before the bull had been proven.
Big cats in
UK.
The discussion has come around
again, about whether there are big “big cats” loose around UK. There has
never been one found dead or died, but then you never seem to find dead deer or
dead badgers other than road kill.
My own experience in 1992 in a field of twenty five eighteen month old store
cattle standing in the middle of a sixteen acre field one frosty morning.
They were just standing in the centre of the field in a tight huddle
at first light, and from the distance the steam was rising off them in
the still morning air.
Full story here http://yewsfarm.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/big-cats-in-uk.html
We seem to have run into a period in life when all the machinery seems to have
taken a wobble at the same time and cannot shake it off. All attempts to put
thing right have been thwarted and mechanics who are working on them cannot just
put their finger on the particular problem.
Take the Agrotron tractor for instance,
for a long while it had difficulty in drawing its fuel from its own fuel tank,
while working its was no trouble but left over night and its fuel in the tank
low, you would have to wind the engine for a little while until it had pumped
its fuel back up to the engine.
Its not every Christmas that
its as cold as last year 2010, when we had sustained cold and frost for some six
weeks along with more snow than we had had for years.
Looking back in the diary just
fifty years ago we had a very frosty spell over the run up to that Christmas
1961, we had turkeys to kill pluck and dress.
Here is a brief summery of
activities of happenings around the farm and the blogs 2011. Not
enough room to do it diary fashion day by day so here goes.
I was asked “which is your favourite blog” the answer was,-- The
Longest Swath, and I was honoured to have it published on the Farm-n-Wife web sitesite in the middle of the Mid-west USA. http://farmnwife.com/ with
the Badge 'Featured Farmer of the week' .
Just been
looking back in the old farm diary on what we were doing just fifty years
ago today
This was the nearest they had to a cattle crush,
and note the cattle, young stock all had horns, the cows would be tied up in the cowsheds by the chain. There are a few horses in the back ground.
Gardening as a Pastime(with tractors always in the
picture)
Many potential gardeners who work, and travel some distance to and from work,
just physically do not have much time to do what they would like to do in the
garden.
Then there is the people who just cannot stand gardening, like a
neighbour we had in the village, (the wheelwright), his wife loved her garden,
and he was committed to mowing the lawns front and back, and always commented to
who ever would listen, that his garden should be tarmac end to
end, side to side, then each spring he could just sweep it off and
paint it green.
Read more and see the pictures here http://bit.ly/uErNUn
Every now and then, in the pantry the last lump of cheese
would be going dry and crumbly, but it was still all used, very very rare for
good food to be wasted back then.
I’m not talking about
the fiddly bits of cheese you see in the shops and super markets these days all
fancy wrapped and stamped with a sell by date. This was a real wedge off a whole round block of Cheshire and Cheddar Cheese,
probably fifteen or twenty times the size mentioned above.
Read on http://yewsfarm.blogspot.co.uk/2011/11/cheese-and-mustard-1940s.html
This was tale about what happened to my brother and I when I was 9 years old and
my brother just over 6years . I was just old enough to work helping the then
cowman Philip to load kale for the cows, a job he did every afternoon ready for
the following days feeding.
Philip had a tremendous scramble
to get us out, I know I was first out and standing by on my own in a
daze, and after a short while my younger brother Robert emerged all muddy an
shaken.
read on here
http://bit.ly/uX6J8I
Occasionally in life you get
the uneasy and unsettled feeling
when you’re unsure of the future and not certain as to which way life is taking
you, well I got that feeling this last few months.
Looking back over the years I
got it when I first started school, then at eleven when we went to the big
school in town, but that was soon over come within a few days when you got to
know your way around.
The next time was when I got
married and got my own house when I set up on my own farm (tenanted farm), then
every now and then when things did not go how you would like, like loosing a
calf or even worse loosing cow. I was always reminded by my father that “Where
you have livestock, you have dead stock”.
Some of these feeling pass
quickly, gone in a few days, other times they last for weeks and weeks or so it
seems until you get used to the new situation. When in one of these periods I
find it hard to concentrate enough to even write a blog, so I thought I would write a blog about
this subject to see how many other folk have the same unsettled feelings and
how they get through them.
Perhaps I better start to
reveal what is causing my unsettled
feeling,
no pictures, the reason will all become clear.
A Sunday morning brush with the
Law
One Sunday morning
ten years ago I was taking a load of rotted muck with the tractor and
trailer down to an allotment in town, on the way I had to pass the police depot
along side the M6 motorway.
As I was loaded I did a rolling
exit out of a road junction, but unfortunately a motorway patrol car was just
coming down off the bridge, (they were just going for a tea break, and thought I
had no brakes),
This was drawn by the Standard Fordson
I remember as a kid of six or seven how we loved to have a ride on the empty
trailers back to the field to be loaded. On this occasion I had just missed my
chance for a ride and I was on my own, when I though I would run and catch up
and climb onto the back end of the wagon.
When I caught up with the outfit, I thought I could put my foot in the swinging
rope and claw myself up the backend of the gormers and onto the trailer. But it
did not turn out like that at all, having slipped with my grip I fell backwards
to the ground, it was only a few inches off the ground, but fell. Trouble was
one foot was still in a loop of rope and it started dragging me across the
fields, ---read on.
http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/10/standard-fordson.html
With one wheel on the grass and a steady eye for the road beyond she got
through, slowed the cob to a trot she never looked back. If she had looked back
as some of her family helpers did, she would have seen a trap still moving along
the road slowly, the driver on his back side in the middle of the road, and the
axle and wheels of the above mentioned vehicle twisted and half way over
the hedge. Read more-- http://yewsfarm.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/grandma-always-had-very-strong-best.html
The main cash crop apart from sugar beet, was wheat this was sown usually after
a break crop of grass as in the Norfolk four coarse rotation of Roots
Barley Seeds Wheat,
Wheat stooked in the field and left for 2 church bells ( ten to fourteen days) before being carted in to the barn,
read more http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/09/corn-harvest-1940s-for-those-on-tuther.html
Well its that time of year again when the calves have got to be
weaned, the shed has been prepare , the troughs along the front have
got gates above them to stop the jumpers, the water trough has extra rails to
stop them going through, enough bedding thrown down to last a month, a ring
feeder positioned where it can be replenished from outside. The cows
will shout by their field gate for three days,
Read more http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/09/cows-have-got-leader.html
Don’t ever take a fence down until you know
the reason it was put up.
G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)
read more
http://bit.ly/qGZYGN
Dad always said that, "you're only as good as your feet,"But
then he was talking bout, horse's cows and bullocks for meat.
Anyone who died
in the village were said to have "fell off the perch"
read more on this link http://yewsfarm.blogspot.com/2011/08/need-long-toe-nails-like-claws-to-grip.html
Pulled out all parcels and shopping and stood back, while
the old Austin Montego finally cremated itself in the middle of the road.
The old Austin Montego Estate Car, it was a farmers car, or
life before we had a Landrover 1970’s / 80’s ( The demise of the Land Rover blog http://bit.ly/k0C2mG
)
How do you define a working farmer’s car, a car that can
pull almost anything, a car that you can chuck anything that will fit in it, a
car with a drawbar that is good and shiny not the one with the plastic horses
head knob cover.
A car that when the dirt gets thick enough it will peel off
in the sun, a car that is always at the ready for the umpteen short journeys be
it lanes or fields, and almost invariably low in fuel, no time to go into town
to fill it up.
A car that when a big bullock walks up the tailboard it
lifts the ass end of the car off the ground, and when he walks to the front of
said trailer it almost bury the drawbar in to the mud, (good suspension).
A few years ago we had an Austin Montego car, a five door
estate model, bought it second hand never having seen mud or cow muck, it was
in mint condition. It did good service for us but as always it would be almost
its last home.
The first thing was to have a drawbar fitted so it could
pull a caravan and the stock trailer; the caravan was a nice stable steady pull
although only just up to the job.
The stock trailer was another kettle of fish, it all
depended on how many beasts were loaded into it, on odd occasions it got
positively over loaded, heaving up and down on the drawbar when loading and
unloading, and then on the road it weaved as the speed built up to 30MPH.
As it happened I bought the standard drawbar fitment for
that make of car, the arm reaching under the car just bolted with four bolts to
the tinwork under the spare wheel in the boot.
There was a lip that reached up to carry the weight of the
drawbar going up behind the plastic bumper again bolted into tinwork.
As you can imagine after a couple of years work with
intermittent use to pull the stock trailer these bolts holes cracked in star
fashion round the holes and eventually pulled through to tin bodywork. To
remedy this we welded an angle iron to the carrying bracket so as to spread the
load all across the back end of the car, if it pulled out again it would take
the whole of the back end off.
I got to know when things were getting
dangerous when you could hear a continuous creaking coming from the spare wheel
housing.
After the beefing up with the angle iron, the long arm that
reached under the spare wheel with its four small bolts started to creak and
these were washered up with large round washers, but still it creaked under
load.
The car then started to over heat intermittently as though the rad was
blocked, they did not have a fan belt, but a thermostat connected to an
electric fan, and it turned out that this thermostat was faulty , not switching
the fan on when it called for cooling.
Everything worked normally when travelling along briskly,
the wind blowing through the radiator did its job well, but this one bank
holiday weekend we went out into the Derbyshire hills and got stuck in a great
line of vehicles mostly stationary, on the run up to a road junction.
As we
kept moving up so the car got hotter, we had the heater on in the car (on a hot
day) to try to help cooling the engine, then to our relief we got past the
junction and onto open road again, the snag then was we had a long two or three
mile climb, working the engine hard, and although the wind was blowing through
the rad it was not enough to cool the already hot engine.
Then on a long down
hill where we cracked on with speed and not too much work for the engine when a
cloud of steam burst from under the bonnet and we coasted to a halt in the
mouth of a quarry, looked underneath to find a pool of oily water, the car had expired
in a cloud of steam.
After getting a lift home we collected the car a few days
later, towing it home on the end of a chain.
As it happened we did get the engine going again and sold it
on to a family as a “second” farm car, another rough lane for it to negotiate
and a bigger family of kids.
Some months later we heard the they were travelling home
from Christmas shopping, loaded up with kids and parcels, going along a remote
lane when the engine burst into flames,
The mother pulled out all the kids and parcels and shopping
and stood back, while the old Austin Montego finally cremated itself in the
middle of the road.
It had not done a big mileage with us or the folks after us,
but it had worked hard, pulling the stock trailer, and after us we found out he
was pulling a double deck sheep trailer, so it had earned its keep over those
few years. This is why we always say “It’s come to its last home when it comes
to us”
If the automobile had followed the same development cycle as the computer, a Rolls-Royce would
today cost a hundred dollars, get a million miles per gallon, and explode once a year, killing everyone inside."
Robert X Cringely, Info world
It was fourteen years ago that Domino was born to a small black Shetland mare, a mare that was not big enough to go in the standard Shetland show classes 38/42inches , and too big to go in the miniature Shetland showing classes 30/34 inches, in fact she was about 36 inches tall.
Domino, he stands at 33 inches tall, this was taken 7 years ago, in his winter the black spots in his coat stand up like a shaving brush while the white areas of coat lay fairly flat
Going back five years before this, it had been decided that we would let the little mare go and sold her as a companion horse to a large hunter horse come race horse.
No more was seen or heard of her until some four years later we had a phone call from a dealer down in the south west; he had got a Shetland mare with its pedigree papers, he had rescued her in very poor condition, he had found that our name and address were on those papers.
Immediately we said we would have the mare back, the problem was she was 250 miles away, and almost a two day job to collect her. After a few months of regular phone calls to the dealer, it was established that he would be attending the National Shetland show and sale at Reading that October.
This being a sale that we had been to on quite a few occasions, it was arranged that he would bring the mare with him to Reading, and we could complete our transaction their. It was good for us, as it was only about 110 miles, and in effect we had less than half the journey that we other wise would have had.
A thin and dull coated little mare duly walked down his tailboard and up into our trailer, after a few hour of rest for the pony we set out and brought her home.
I think, in fact I'm sure she sensed that she knew she had come home again after almost five years away recognised some of her field/stable mates and quickly settled in. She was wormed, as that is the most likely cause of her poor condition, and put on a cattle grazed pasture for the winter, as we do with all the Shetlands. We spread them out to range in winter, they need very little hand fed hay.
The following spring as soon as the grass starts to become green again, the Shetlands have to be tightly restricted on their grazing, Shetlands are well known to put their heads down and never know when to stop eating, ending up with laminitis, from which once afflicted are very prone to get it again and again.
So the little mare was put onto a small paddock next to our orchard only a ‘cock's stride' from the house. Some of the other mares had foaled and moved onto larger house paddock, leaving as we thought three baron mares on tight restricted grazing.
This small paddock by the orchard can be seen from the house widows and a good observation paddock to see who is looking likely to foal, and with three baron mares on there, we astonished to see this little mare we had helped to rescue had a black spotted foal running with her, skipping about, born during the night , as they always seem to be, licked dry and suckled, and now running in and out of the three mare who seemed to be as bewildered as us as to the colour and markings of this the smallest foal we had ever been born on this place.
Domino was registered with the Spotted Pony Society, and the dealer from whom we fetched the mare had a good idea where and when the mare could have got to a stallion and which one, and so he had a named farther for his certificate.
Over the next few years he was entered into spotted pony show classes, drawing a lot of attention as he had a sharp presence and alert ears and very vocal when other horses were about, in other word he was showing off, to tell the truth so were we.
Much to the annoyance of large spotted riding pony owners he often got put up above them, but shows with spotted pony classes were very few and far between, and he did not go out as often as some of our other ponies.
This is Domino's daughter "Dotty", as you see she is getting a bit over weight and in her winter coat
Now retired, he still is a challenge to the blacksmith who periodically has to trim his tiny hooves, he never likes a hand gripped tight round his fetlock, so the blacksmith tried a trick he had been told by an old blacksmith from years ago. He gets a towel and puts the two ends around his fetlock and twists it tight then holds the towel ends between his knees, this improves his ability to settle the pony, but Domino does like to pose a challenge as he's strong, and on odd occasions I have to grip his nose, twitch like, until he knows who has to win the battle.
This is a little character who will never leave us, he will be here to the end of his days,
He is part of the family of ponies that have all retired, enjoying the care and attention given to them. We our selves are getting older, and are not able or fit enough to run them out properly to show them, although one of the younger of the old mare was taken out last weekend and came home with a rosette, shown and run out by our daughter.
I told you it would be a long story, more than a few lines, and feel that we have been so lucky to own and enjoy such an individual little character. --- Domino.
This was the last Standard Shetland foaled in the orchard behind the house, foal having her first suck
Our pair of Fell ponies, looks like they had just been rolling
Part of the Fell Pony meeting which is sometimes held here, this was the fancy dress event
The white pony in the picture is also ours
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More of the fancy dress, the village church tower in the background
Some of the ponies grazing in the paddocks behind our buildings (Village Pub on the left)
Our local cattle market is at Market Drayton, about half an hour's drive west, it's usually store cattle that I sell there, having a suckler herd, I run them on to just short of two years old and sell them to finishers.
I buy no corn (barley or wheat) for them, its all grass and wilted silage in the winter, with the grain prices as they are these days and I no longer grow my own, where's the sense in shelling out good money, when a bit longer natural growth bring good results.
Below is a picture of some of the 18 month old stores, every now and then we call a group of them into the orchard next to the house to graze it off and pick up wind fall apples.
They are a bit of a mixture of breeds all sired by our Hereford bull, below for example, the light coloured one is out of a cow that is Charolais cross Simmental put too the Hereford bull. The other one is out of a Angus cross Simmental cow put too the Hereford.
During the foot and mouth crisis in the 1990's the only bull we could get to use at that time was an Aberdeen Angus, it caught us in between bulls and the Angus was a very young bull already on the farm. Following that we had a Simmental bull for three years, and following that we have had the Hereford bull
Below is the Simmental bull called Garry running with the cows a few years ago
And below is the Hereford bull called Winston, he paid us a visit one day having got his field gate open came a walk round the house and garden.
This probably sums up my experience of the market
To Market Drayton Sell (Cattle Market)
Off we go to send some cattle, to Market Drayton sell,
Try to get the best price, me poor owd wallet swell,
Peter D. is at the gate to welcome, all his farmer "guests",
Organise the traffic into, lines he does his best.
On round to unloading bay, five bays for the queue,
Brian H. and his colleges waiting, great big stick of glue,
His mate got the book of numbers, slap them on the rump,
Stick them on all in order, with a little thump.
Gently move them on down, the narrow race to look,
Market number and ear tag, and log it in the book.
Read both the ear tags, match them with the form,
Everything's got to be right, the law we must conform.
The writing's done by Freda V, with a pencil sharp,
Always cheerful, "are you staying, see them sold" she'd carp,
Jotting down the market numbers, on the entry form,
"Will ya sell'em separate, or a matching bunch the norm".
All this noted, carefully written, with firm grip on the scribe,
The pencils used as cattle prod, as the head gate opens wide,
Books of passports handed over, movement signed within,
Sent off to the office clerks, wait for the cattle sale to begin.
Off round to the wagon wash, a queue now building long,
Washing all the *** off, to go home dirty's wrong,
Brian B. keeps an eye on things, keeps the drain unblocked,
Untangles all the long hose pipes, a Defra inspector's clocked.
From the rostrum biding done, gavel comes down hard,
Weight is noted and the price, beast turned off down the yard,
Loaded up for new owners, passport signed and checked,
Off to feed for fattening, all over the country trekked.
Seven long days wait for a cheque, but when it comes it good,
Off to the bank reet quick, monthly bills to cover it should,
All me money, thought its safe, but banks are shaky now,
Ought to buy some more calves, or praps a suckler cow.
Countrytman (Owd Fred)
If we could sell our experiences for what they cost us, we'd all be millionaires
Abigail Van Buren (1918-)
Almost a quarter of our farm is on a peat bog, at one time each of the farms in the village had a proportion of this peat ground, splitting and fragmenting the farms.
In the last forty years as farms became vacant with retirements the estate amalgamated the farms into bigger units and got them into ring fence units. My farm being to the east side of the estate nearly all this peat ground fell into my circle on the map.
When I first started farming, and fresh from farm college, keen to try out new ideas, I had a small area of peat and some river side land as well, both areas prone to flooding once the river bloke its banks.
The peat grassland was full of buttercups and the soft rush, and when neglected the soft rushes became what we called ‘sniggle bogs' the centre of which rose up and made it impossible top cut with the old finger bar mowers.
So being keen I contacted my local MAFF (Ministry of Agriculture fisheries and Food) adviser. He was and old man who had had plenty of experience and seen these type of meadows before.
Being peat it was very acidic and no amount of lime would bring the PH levels up to that required by modern seed mixtures he advised. Best way was to improve the indigenous species of grass that was already growing down there.
First job was to rake or harrow the centre out of these ‘sniggle bogs' and if that did not work it was advised that I take some bags of Sulphate of Ammonia fertilizer and a bucket onto the meadows and place a handful of the fertilizer into the middle of each bog of rushes, the aim was to burn the centre out of the bog and the nitrogen fertilizer would benefit and encourage the surrounding grass.
After a couple of years these risen bogs had disappeared and the remaining rushes could be cut twice or three times a year with the finger bar mower. In later years, and as I took over more of the meadows the finger bar mowers had been supper seeded by the drum or disc mowers, and these were capable of cutting directly under and sniggle bogs cutting out the hand work involved in burning the centres out with fertilizer.
Back to the early days, once the meadows were mow-able, I started to leave a good proportion to cut for hay, it was before silage was invented in our area, and we managed to get the baler on to the meadows to bale the crop.
Confidence building and wishing to increase the yield of hay a complete fertilizer was applied and a tremendous response was seen from the old grasses that grew on the meadows, it was difficult to mow with the finger bar mower as there was a certain amount of rotting vegetation at the bottom of the sward so dense that it lacked sunlight. It was okay for the first one or two summers when the weather was with us, then we hit a bad year weather wise
It was mowed as usual and after two days was turned with an old ‘dickey swath turner' this flipped up just over half of the heavy side of the swath, a second turning the next day brought the rest of the swath to the top, it was at this point that the weather bloke and we had a very heavy down pour. A deluge that went on for most of the night, bringing the brook that run through the meadows to over flow, of coarse at mowing time of years the brook and the river lower down were also weeded up which impeded the flow.
So it was the following day we watched with dismay, the water rose in between the heavy swaths, and later that day the swaths were actually floating and drifting to one side of the meadows. As the water receded so the swaths settled nice and neatly over each other each four foot swath now being four inches apart with overlapping. The whole crop was lost and that part of the meadow ruined for the next two years where the swaths lay and rotted down.
On reflecting back without the fertilizer, and with lighter crop that hay could have been baled a day earlier and the bales carted. That was imprinted on my mind for the rest of my farming days, however on the odd occasion we have had bales stranded and standing in flood water when rucked into piles of eight, only the bottom two were ruined and the other not up to much by the time they were carted. But that is the risk taken on these meadows.
Up to these modern times, the meadows are the same, we take the crop it produces usually towards August being the best time to cut, they are cut with a fifteen foot disc mower conditioner, wilted one day rowed up and baled in the following day or two days depending on the forecast, being big round bales these are loaded and moved without much physical effort on my part, that suit me fine, and stacked at home outside
Looking close you can see the soft rush comming through the grass which has just freshened up since being cut. These ditches are bottomless, and as you see the meadow has been mown and the two metres uncut by the water coarse. inside the triangle of posts is a censor, to monitor the water table
This picture is taken from a bank on the edge of the peat, our meadows are the between the two woods, they have been mown mid July and aftermath is being grazed, the rough grass strips are the drainage channels which are weeded every other year in September by the river board for which we pay a drainage rate.
This type peat meadows now are getting rare and Natural England, the modern equivalent of MAFF have asked if they could monitor these meadows of ours and sent out advisers to study them. Some groups have been round from Nottingham University and now they are monitored and controlled by the Stewardship Schemes that I participate in.
Some of the principle rules that I have now got to abide by to maintain these meadows and receive a subsidy for doing so is,
1 Not to go on the meadows for any reason before 15th July.
This is so we do not rut and poach the ground; this is what I have already done over the last fifty years
2 Do not apply fertilizer or lime or farm yard manure.
Its impossible to get on the ground to spread FYM and as from experience no fertilizer or lime has ever been spread by me over the last fifty years. (Other than the few years explained above)
3 Graze the aftermath growth of grass and remove stock by 1st November every year.
This is what we have done on the meadows over the last fifty years.
4 The Ditches and dykes only to be cleaned of every third year in rotation.
Well that job is taken out of my hands, I have never done that job, it is undertaken by the River Board who clean out all the main rivers and water courses below a certain contour line. Never done that job over fifty years.
5 Leave two metres un-mown along side all water courses.
This is new to me, with the modern disc mowers you can only cut to the top of the bank or edge of the ditch, with the old finger bar mower you could hang the cutter bar down almost to the waters edge. The longest swath with the most grass is always the outside one. We loose out on that last swath of grassSo this rule is already catered for with the use of the disc mowers.
Year 2008 was interesting in that I was approached by the Environment Agency, Natural England, they wanted me to go on a scheme Farming Flood plains for the future project.
They are looking at raising the water levels of our moor (peat) during the winter month. This they did by inserting some controllable dams in key sections of the ditches, and held the water at field level through to May when a sluice was opened in each dam to return the water level back to what was it natural levels. Below and above each dam was a censor, to measure the water levels by computer, and again censors out I the middle of the fields to register the water table again they connected to a computer to read the levels every few weeks.
All this work and altering the water table levels did not affect the crop of grass that we harvested at the end of July and August.
Conclusion, not enough infield standing water to benefit wading and wet land birds, so the dams were not closed in the winter of 2010, but the levels are still being monitored.
So it looks like I should be telling them how to maintain the meadows, and do like I have done for the last fifty years, but some folk just will not be told.
Another project was under taken on the moors when I was asked if the Wildlife trust could do a botanical survey of all the interesting indigenous species of plant growing on the peat. Apparently there are not many of these old untouched meadows left in the country, and this is what they found almost 40 different species.
Habitat: Neutral grassland: unimproved 29/05/2008
Recorder(s): -----(I won't name them here)-
flowering plant
Alopecurus geniculatus Marsh Foxtail locally frequent
Alopecurus pratensis Meadow Foxtail abundant
Anthoxanthum odoratum Sweet Vernal Grass abundant
Caltha palustris Marsh-marigold rare
Cardamine pratensis Cuckooflower frequent
Carex acutiformis Lesser Pond-sedge locally frequent
Carex disticha Brown Sedge frequent
Carex hirta Hairy Sedge frequent
Carex panicea Carnation Sedge rare
Cerastium fontanum Common Mouse-Ear occasional
Cirsium palustre Marsh Thistle rare
Deschampsia cespitosa Tufted Hair-Grass occasional
Eleocharis palustris Common Spike-rush locally abundant
Festuca rubra Red Fescue occasional
Filipendula ulmaria Meadowsweet locally frequent
Galium palustre Marsh-bedstraw frequent
Glyceria fluitans Floating Sweet-grass abundant
Holcus lanatus Yorkshire-fog frequent
Juncus articulatus Jointed Rush occasional
Juncus conglomeratus Compact Rush frequent
Juncus effusus Soft-rush occasional
Lathyrus pratensis Meadow Vetchling rare
Leontodon autumnalis Autumnal Hawkbit rare
Lychnis flos-cuculi Ragged-Robin rare
Persicaria maculosa Redshank locally frequent
Plantago lanceolata Ribwort Plantain frequent
Poa pratensis Smooth Meadow-Grass occasional
Ranunculus acris Meadow Buttercup frequent
Ranunculus bulbosus Bulbous Buttercup occasional
Ranunculus flammula Lesser Spearwort locally frequent
Ranunculus repens Creeping Buttercup frequent
Rumex acetosa Common Sorrel occasional
Senecio aquaticus Marsh Ragwort rare
Stellaria alsine Bog Stitchwort rare
Taraxacum officinale agg. Taraxacum officinale agg. rare
Trifolium pratense Red Clover occasional
Veronica serpyllifolia Thyme-leaved Speedwell rare
Vicia hirsute Hairy Tare rare
We were asked if one of our meadows could act as a donor meadow, to provide seeds to another meadow 20miles away.
So on a pre-booked day we mowed (mower without the conditioner we need the seeds to stay on the plants) and baled the grass/crop loaded it on their transport and by mid afternoon it was being spread on the receiving meadow, for the seeds of all the above plants to establish on a new meadow. Not had any feed back on the results but I imagine it will take a long while before it can be said to be successful.
Picture taken on the pasture that runs down to the peat, the brook that runs across the peat is in the tree line in the back ground.
Old Maps.
Its nice to look at very old maps, all faded and dog eared,
See what has change over the years, and what has disappeared,
Years ago they measured the land, all in furlong and chain
The length of a furlong a chain wide and an acre to attain,
Most roads and lanes are still the same, so are most the fields,
Village houses have increased built in corners quite concealed.
Countryman (Owd Fred)
(Sorry about the last half being in italics, couldna get rid of it)
On hearing the back door open, it was never locked,
Foot steps in the kitchen, bedroom door we chocked,
Then we heard mothers Coo-eee, relieved to hear her call,
Have you missed me duckies, we bloomin have an all.
(Our farm house was out on its own and scary at night)
Looking at kids of today all pampered and molly coddled, with all the mobile phones and Ipods, Nintendo Wii. X -boxes and video games, it seems it's every thing you can think of to keep them inside and isolated from social interaction with other children.
After all I was brung up in a cot painted with lead paint, and medicine was always a liquid in different colourer bottles, no child proof lids. In Purple bottles was poison, and I know there was some sort of colour code as to, whether you swallowed the medicine or rubbed it in, just can't remember.
But we survived
In the car we never had seat belts, and the tyres wore out down to the inner tubes, and the parking brake was often a half house brick carried with you. No winking indicators, only an illuminated orange finger that lifted out of the door pillar, this often got knocked off when left on when it shouldn't be.
When we were old enough (11) we had an air gun. Must say there was a mishap when one of our gang popped his head up and copped a slug to his forehead, we did try to get it out by holding him down but the lead slug had flattened on his skull, so we had to let him run home and then to hospital and we got into deep trouble.
And when we were reported to the police, our parents were all on the side of the law, and did not stick up for us.
But we survived (and the one who copped the slug, he's 70 now and still got the mark on his forehead).
We got caned at school, in my opinion for nowt, but then we did try to do thing our way at times, and on the way home we fell out of trees, got plenty bumps and bruises, but then you learn to hold tight and not fall.
When we played football, it seemed every one was a centre forward, with a great group of us lads milling round the ball all competing to have a shot at goal, no one passed the ball, it was every mon for himself. If you did not get a kick and were not bold enough to charge in, it was no use canting and moaning to your parents.
But we all survived
We went tracking, two or three would set out with half an hour lead, laying down arrows along the way of twigs or grass or stones indicating the way they had gone. This would last for hours, arriving back dirty wet and often blooded from the excursions through woods and brambles, remember we all wore short trousers back then. This lasted all day and no one ever came looking for us and I don't think anyone was lost. (or died to my knowledge).
And we all still survived.
Dads farm workshop would be taken over at times when he was not about, the tools came in handy for converting old prams into go carts, where one on the front would sit with his feet on the front axle and a cord to steer with and the other ‘man' would sit with his back to the driver and provide the propulsion, even going down bank it would be important to go faster than your rival, best place was on the public roads, down a bank with a blind bend in our back lane
Until of course the village bobby, who was about on his bike nabbed us, and gave the cheeky ones a sharp clip round the ear with the back of his hand. The police man, our village police man never held back when punishment was to be handed out, again our parents seemed pleased we had been caught, and never seemed to defend us against him.
But we survived
We wus brung up on bacon for breakfast, bacon that was half fat and lean, and slices hand cut from the flitch (half pig) hanging in the pantry. Hand cut thick slices of bread, ( sliced bread had not been invented) floating in almost an inch deep bacon fat, and fried until it smoked, but it never killed us.
Cheese, no slice cheese then, it was cut from a huge wedge in great lumps and eaten with crusty bread, if you had cheese you did not have butter as well, nowadays they call it plough mans lunch.
We learned to swim in the river, and just for fun would plaster black mud all over ourselves, and then dive in, in the deepest corners of the river, narrowly missing what we thought was a whirlpool, to wash clean again. The old railway cottage down where the river and railway almost meet, lived a family. In the summer their well would run dry, and when they wanted a bath they would got to the river with a bar of soap and towel. No one worried about diseases back then in the rivers, it was a matter of being up stream from where the cattle watered and they always stood in the river when the gad flies were about. (Cattle almost invariably lift their tails while standing in the river and it was said gad flies never crossed water)
And we survived that as well.
You could only get Easter eggs and hot cross buns at Easter time, strawberries only in late June July time, turkey was only at Christmas and goose for new year. There were no pizza shops, no McDonalds, no KFC, or Indian restaurants, but some bright spark did loaded up a fish and chip fry pan outfit into a van, and toured the out laying villages having a regular round visiting our village on one evening a week.
It was coal fired and after he had served his customer at their front gate, before moving on would put a bit more coal on his fire, I expect he could get a good draw on the fire with the speed, he always had a plume of black smoke from his chimney where ever he went, he did a regular trade for quite a few years.
Looking Back them Years Ago
Looking back them years ago, when we were little boys,
We bumped our knees and elbows, and father made us toys,
Played around the farmyard, in and out the sheds,
Testing all the puddles, thick mud into the house it treads.
When at first we started school, father trimmed our hair,
Combed and washed with new cap, new shoes without compare
Short trousers and new jacket, a satchel on our back,
We all went there to study, but often got a smack.
Times tables chanted every morning, and the alphabet,
Till we knew them off by heart, of this I‘ve no regret,
Isn't till you leave school, that you realise,
How useful school and education, help to make us wise.
Father showed us all his skills, from very early age,
Studied Farmers Weekly, read almost every page,
The pictures they were mainly, of inter-est to us,
News and reports on prices, what a blooming fuss.
We also had the Beano, a comic for us kids,
Dandy and the Eagle, must have cost dad quid's,
Him he had his farmers weekly, it must be only fare,
Mother had a knitting book, for inspiration n' flare.
It must have taken fifteen years, till we felt grown up,
Left alone at home at night, parents meeting as a group,
In fact it was a whist drive every Friday night,
We supposed to be in bed, but sometimes had a fright.
(Our farm house was out on its own and scary at night)
An owl it hooted in bright moonlight, scared us all to death,
Door that blew in wind, with fright we nearly lost our breath,
Scooted up the stairs so fast, and under the bedclothes dove,
In darkness we were frightened, it was for courage that we strove.
On hearing the back door open, it was never locked,
Foot steps in the kitchen, bedroom door we chocked,
Then we heard mothers Coo-eee, relieved to hear her call,
Have you missed me duckies, we bloomin have an all.
So our sheltered life was over, sometimes fended for our selves,
Mother learned us basic cooking, as long as plenty on the shelves,
One at a time we left home, with basic thing that we were taught,
This knowledge we're to build on, foundations life not bought.
Countryman (Owd Fred)
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